


Parisian Nocturne

by Eattheboring



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Christmas Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Romance, Rough Sex, Smut, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4633920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eattheboring/pseuds/Eattheboring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Hannibal vacation to Paris for Christmas and everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Will decides the throbbing sensation in the back of his head has gone on long enough, and shakes two little white pills into the palm of his hand. He throws them back with a grimace, and looks around the bright airport, searching for a familiar silver head in the crowd. 

Hannibal’s distinctive shape eventually appears between the congregation of humans, his clothing being darker and more distinctive in contrast to those around him. He spots Will leaning against the wall, surrounded by their luggage that stands like a fence between him and everyone else, and makes his way over.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

They wheel their suitcases to the Mercedes that Hannibal has rented, and drive through the crowded airport docking circles. 

Paris, at least at this time of year, is cold and wet, overcast clouds fat with unfallen snow. Christmas, Hannibal muses as he drives, while the best time of year to avoid tourists, involves crappy weather one doesn’t like to see on vacation.

Both he and Will are groggy from the jet lag, and besides the quiet French news station Hannibal turns on, the car ride commences in comfortable silence. 

They pass dreary warehouse districts speckled with graffiti and brick walled apartments overlooking the highway, and Hannibal watches Will’s tired mind get lost between the building windows. 

It is a welcome relief to finally be on vacation. 

The buildings begin to look bigger and more cared for, and before long, they merge into a lane that leads into the heart of Paris. 

They drive around the giant Arc De Triomphe, lit up into brilliant whites and golds. 

From the roundabout, they turn onto the Champs-Élysées, which stretches away between giant, expensive stores and lanes of pedestrians sheltering under umbrellas. They quickly turn off the Champs and turn down a wide side alley just one block away from the Arc.

The hotel they pull up in front of is marble and bronze fronted, with giant windows that exposed more rich colors. Hannibal guesses a night here costs more than Will’s monthly paycheck. 

"L'otel Vernet." Hannibal states. 

"Jesus christ." Will states back, in a mimicked inflection. "How the hell did you pay for this?"

"I don't spend all my earnings on dog food." 

A busboy dressed in red meets Hannibal on the wet sidewalk, hefts their suitcases out of the car, and rolls them inside, with Will bringing up the rear.

They check in at the front desk, and together, board the old fashioned elevator. 

In this moment of sudden peace, like a rock in a creek breaking the flow of the current, they both relax in the same way, with a loosening of shoulders and simultaneous yawns. 

The hotel smells like bed linens and floor cleaner, cool marble, running water, and vacuumed, expensive carpets. It is all, at once, familiar and exhilarating. 

Will, preoccupied with trying to stay awake on his feet, doesn’t notice all the new smells that permeate his world, or rather, doesn’t care. He, to Hannibal, smells like tiredness and travel; foreign, varied scents layered over his body like gaudy perfume. 

At their room, the luggage has preceded them and is waiting patiently in the hallway. Once the door is shut behind them, Will immediately goes to check out their suite, which Hannibal feels is attributed to Will’s naturally suspicious personality. He watches with amusement as Will pulls back the shower curtain to make sure there aren't any serial killers hiding there. 

Hannibal muses to himself that the only serial killer that Will needs to be concerned with is currently unpacking their bags into the giant wardrobe that sits at the foot of their bed.

After Will is satisfied with the lack of immediately apparent murderers, he opens the blinds next to the bed and stares out over the rooftops, adrift in his mind per usual. Hannibal closes the wardrobe and admires, for a moment, the way the the window frames Will beautifully and the soft light there plays on the outline of Will’s form. He walks around the bed and joins him, noting the way he can stand directly in Will’s personal space without the other man so much as blinking.

From their suite, they can see the tops of the bright stores along the Champs, but mostly they are face to face with the brick apartments across the street. The people below hurry along with their umbrellas, the vibrant colors speckling the sidewalk like spilled candy. It’s started to snow.

Hannibal leans into Will's shoulder, breathes him in a second time. He'll never get tired of Will's scent, musky, natural, and crisp, like autumn.

Will turns his head and meets Hannibal’s look, smiles at him. Hannibal smiles back and thinks about how Will’s kiss would feel at this exact moment. If the taste of Will’s mouth would be as sweet as the honey-coloured light colouring the finer notes of the other man’s irises.

Blinking and breaking the moment, Will closes his eyes tight, yawns, and asks, “When can we sleep?” 

“We have to stay awake to get reoriented to the different time zone.” Hannibal replies easily. “If we go to sleep now we’ll be stuck in Eastern time.”

Will sighs and collapses backwards on the soft bed, causing the whole mattress to jiggle on the bed frame. Hannibal decides to let him rest and goes to the bathroom to freshen up. After he has brushed his hair, washed his face, and changed out of his travel-wrinkled clothes into one of his finely cut suits, he takes a moment to cool the heat he notices has risen in his eyes. Will always seems to have this effect on him; just being near the other man makes Hannibal’s blood quicken in a way no murder ever can.

When he returns to the bedroom he finds Will practically asleep on the mattress. Amused, he pulls some of Will’s nicer clothes out of the wardrobe and drops the folded fabric on Will’s face. With a startled grunt the other man is awake.  
“Get changed.” Hannibal tells him. “And please wash yourself of that offensive airport odor. I can smell it from the bathroom.”

Will smells himself discreetly when Hannibal’s back is turned (Hannibal can see him do it from the bathroom mirror) and examines the fine shirt and dress pants Hannibal picked out for him. To Hannibal’s dismay, Will sets them aside, choosing instead to root through the organized drawers for one of his dependable plaid shirts. 

When Will joins Hannibal in the bathroom in an outfit much like the one he traveled in, Will smiles, pretends to admire himself in the giant mirror on the door of the bathroom. 

“‘Oh, Will, how you dissatisfy me with your stupid hick clothes.’” He says, attempting to imitate Hannibal’s Lithuanian accent with remarkable accuracy. “‘If only you would dress like every day was a trip to the opera I would not be embarrassed to be seen with you in public.’”

Hannibal is not amused and purses his lips slightly, but chooses to ignore Will’s semi-true comments. He goes to the closest and picks out one of his nicer coats to wear out in the snow.

“Since we have a while until bed, let us go out and explore the city.” He says, shrugging into his coat and folding his lapels down.

They talked about their itinerary over dinners, during meetings, and offhand while driving, due to Hannibal’s need to have every second of their trip planned out. Will honestly didn’t see the need to have a schedule and preferred to act on spontaneity, but went along with Hannibal’s meticulous outlining. This day, however, was left up in the air. 

Will shrugs on a coat that Hannibal notices is covered in dog hair and pauses to tug his sleeves down inside the coat. Hannibal discreetly picks off a few hairs from Will’s shoulders while the other man is distracted.

Satisfied with what he could do (and reminding himself to secretly buy a lint roller) Hannibal offers Will his arm and unlocks the hotel door. “We’ll see where the city takes us.” 

Arm in arm, they walk downstairs to the outside world. 

The snow is lazy and drifts like feathers from a ripped pillow.

They walk along with the crowds of people to the main street of the Champs, and follow the flow towards the Louvre, away from the Arc. The snow muffles the sounds of traffic and squeaks pleasantly underfoot. The lights from the stores highlight each drifting flurry over their heads. At the far end of the Champs, a giant Ferris wheel turns gently against the twilight sky.

Hannibal and Will meander, pretending to window shop. Hannibal looks at the displays in the stores and watches Will out of the corner of his eye. Sometimes Will’s gaze is drawn to something in the crowd that isn’t actually there. It is mildly disquieting, but fascinating to watch.

Hannibal can tell that whatever Will sees is unpleasant by the way Will’s grip tightens slightly on his arm as his eyes track something unseen.

The smell of roasting chestnuts and mulled wine permeates the raw air. Ahead, hundreds of booths crowd the sidewalk and loom over the congregation of people like sheltering trees. 

Inside each booth is a bright interior spilling steam and light. People herd up to the counters and with outstretched hands receive all manner of Christmassy, touristy gifts. A few booths have giant slabs of chocolate laid out like roof tiles, spanning entire tables. All manner of candies and treats are spread provocatively within the eyeline of the smaller children. Scarves and gloves and warm winter outfittings are being rapidly sold, as the snow starts to grow heavier and stick to the sidewalks and other people’s hair.

Will smiles and brushes the snow off his own shoulders, then teases Hannibal about his own accumulation of fluff. Hannibal brushes his hands down the front of his coat and through his hair, smiling, and Will tucks his bangs back in place for him. 

A tight group of people bustle past and Will snuggles closer to Hannibal to avoid being knocked aside. Hannibal leads them through a seating area and people part around them when they plunge back into the crowd. French Christmas songs can faintly be heard over the sound of cars. 

Something in one of the booths catches Will’s eye, and he squeezes Hannibal’s bicep to get his attention before slipping away. When he returns Hannibal has two steaming cups of glüwine ready. He hands one to Will and looks curiously at the bundle Will has. Will smiles and pulls out a pair of dark maroon gloves, obviously the most expensive ones the booth sold. The colour matches Hannibal’s coat perfectly. He pulls them on and gives Will one of his minimalist smiles. Will has the decency to look pretty pleased with himself and interlocks his fingers with Hannibal’s as the snow whirls around their heels.

As they walk Hannibal sneaks looks at Will, who is grinning at everything and nothing in particular. The other man wears a genuine, easy smile, the kind of grin Hannibal has only seen once or twice. A beautiful smile indeed, and one Hannibal wishes would soften Will’s features regularly. 

He tightens his grip on Will’s hand and considers running them both into traffic so this moment would never have to end.


	2. Chapter 2

When they return to the hotel room, it’s well past evening. The sky is dark and the streets are hushed with snow that makes no signs of letting up. 

Hannibal locks the door behind him and closes the curtains over the window. Muted, grey light trickles in from the bright world outside. He leaves the door open to the bathroom and Will follows him in, brushes his teeth as Hannibal undresses. Will falls to the bed without grace and Hannibal watches him arrange the blankets and pillows to his liking. 

Hannibal realizes his hands have been frozen in place while he watched Will and he finishes changing into his pajamas quickly.

Will rolls over and stretches. “Come to bed,” He says with a yawn. 

Hannibal obeys with ease, turning all the lights off in the suite as he goes. Once between the covers he immediately reaches for Will, who presses his back against him and cuddles close. His body heat is almost a shock after the coldness of the room.

Will’s almost asleep as is, but Hannibal is restless. He simply holds Will for a minute, then unhooks his arms to press his cold hands against Will’s ribs. Will starts to wake up as Hannibal presses a dry kiss to the back of his neck.

Will’s hair smells wonderful. Hannibal inhales deeply and feels blood start to rush south to where Will has his ass pressed tantalizingly flush against his hips.

He maneuvers Will so he’s lying on his side, facing him, and Hannibal rests his hands on Will’s hips as he kisses him. Just a gentle touch, a sweet connection that makes Hannibal’s heart thump hard once in his chest. He runs his hands up Will’s sides and hooks his elbows under Will’s arms, hugging the other man close to him, sternum to sternum. 

There are too many layers of clothes between them but Will’s breath is hot on his mouth and he’s too distracted to do anything but close the space between their lips as if his life depends on it.

He twines his hands through Will’s curls at the base of the other man’s skull and rubs the strands of hair between his fingers as the other man arches up against him. He works his thigh between Will’s legs and presses, and is rewarded with a breathy gasp into his mouth which he swallows down. He kisses Will with a breathless passion that Will returns in full and when he pulls away he can see Will’s throat contract as he gulps audibly.

He inhales Will’s carbon dioxide and wishes he could live off of Will’s taste forever.

Will makes a low noise in his throat and there is eye contact, brief but intense. Will’s pupils are wide, blown huge with a rim of iris catching the light. The air between them is hot with their shared breath and rushing blood.

Hannibal tips his chin forward and bites the plush of Will’s bottom lip, eyes heavy lidded in reverence. He draws Will’s lip out between his teeth and Will’s eyebrows knit together in an expression of pain that thrills Hannibal to no end. 

He pulls Will impossibly closer to him and his own cock jerks when he feels Will’s length press against his hip. Will can undoubtedly feel Hannibal’s cock against him, too, and he lifts his jaw to expose his throat in invitation. He rolls his hips against Hannibal’s leg in tight, jerking motions, punctuated with little gasps. Hannibal moves his thigh in a counter rhythm and holds back a smile when Will shudders. 

He’s starting to ache in the confines of his pants, but it is worth it to prolong his own pleasure for the sake of having Will pressed against him, intimate in the most possible way as the other man whimpers and grinds against his leg.

“Will,” He says, and his voice is rough with an emotion that he can’t find a name for.

“Hannibal,” Will breathes back, and he shoves his hips harder. “Please-”

Hannibal untangles a hand from Will’s hair and palms the soft area under Will’s sternum, glides his hand down Will’s abdomen until he is cupping Will’s erection. It burns hot against his palm through the layer of Will’s boxers, the tip of his cock sticky with precome. Will gasps and Hannibal kisses him wetly under his jaw, sucks and bites there as he slips his hand into Will’s pants and strokes him properly. Will comes alive in his arms, shaking and whimpering and panting against his skin. Hannibal imagines he can smell the rush of blood under Will’s skin as he drags his teeth over a beating artery in WIll’s neck.

He holds himself back from biting as he hard as would like, and prides himself on his restraint.

“Nnn.”

Will’s moan is breathy and pained. Hannibal sucks a mark into the skin beneath Will’s ear and wishes he could litter Will’s entire body with imprints of his teeth.

With a shudder, Will suddenly stiffens, holding his breath as Hannibal works him through the final leg of his release, and he comes with a breathy cry into Hannibal’s hair. He buries his face in Hannibal’s shoulder, thighs shaking with the force of his orgasm. 

Hannibal gives Will a minute to catch his breath while he unfurls his hand, sticky with come. He uses his own pajama top to clean Will’s lower abdomen of come (it will stain, but he doesn’t mind. Will could mess up every pajama top he owned and he wouldn’t care) and relishes in the scent of Will’s sweat, clean and heady in the air. He nuzzles his nose in Will’s curls and his hand goes to his own cock, left ignored. He takes himself out, biting his lip slightly at the sensation of freeing himself finally, and tugs lightly, simply looking to relieve pent-up excitement. 

Will seems to have short-circuited beside him, but Hannibal doesn’t mind. He works himself with easy pulls, the slick of Will’s release still on his hand helping to lubricate the process. His other hand is still entangled in Will’s hair and he tugs gently, pulling Will’s head up enough to kiss him. Will’s mouth is hot with blood pooling under his lips, and while they kiss Hannibal imagines that same mouth around his cock. Perhaps later. Right now he is content with the easy slide of their lips as Will slowly comes back online. 

He feels Will’s hand against his abdominal muscles, which jump at the touch. His body’s reaction to Will is one of the only things he can’t control as much as he would like, but the loss of restraint is somehow electrifying. The other man’s hand goes to his cock and he growls low in the back of his throat as Will takes over. 

He slides his tongue past Will’s teeth; Will tongue slips against his with a heat that makes Hannibal’s hips jerk ever so slightly in Will’s grip. 

The other man’s touch is dry and a little too tight, but Hannibal revels in it just the same. His breath shakes when Will puts his hand on the back of his neck and digs in with his fingernails. 

“I have been wanting you,” Hannibal tells him between slides of his lips. “Since before we got on the airplane-”

“Fuck, Hannibal-”

“Every minute of the day.”

“Me too.”

“You cannot imagine-”

“Hannibal-”

Will kisses him hard, sloppy and open mouthed, and Hannibal’s breath punches out of him as he comes, spending himself in Will’s hand.

“God, Will,” He murmurs warmly, and they cling together with the dying intensity of drowning men. Hannibal brushes the hair off of Will’s sweaty forehead and kisses him softly on the superficial temporal vein beating at his temple.

Will hums in response, already drifting off again. He wipes his hand on his own pajama top and drapes his arm over Hannibal’s hip. Hannibal watches with utter curiosity the moment Will’s eyes soften enough for Hannibal to see tender feelings behind them before the other man falls asleep.

He holds Will close and wonders, then, if Will could ever see the depth of his love just from a softness in his own eyes. And if Will could ever be able to connect that love to the dark thing that lives within him, prepared to kill to keep Will within the iron cage of his arms.


End file.
